Fisher town
by madeinfrance
Summary: "I work better alone, Perry. You know that." Clark x Lois, pre-Man of Steel AU.
1. Chapter 1

Arms crossed over her chest, she stares right at him, eyes not wavering.

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not," he simply answers, his tone matching hers as he keeps writing whatever he's on, unphased. She barely holds back an annoyed sigh. Doesn't, really.

"I work better alone, Perry. You know that."

"You've never even _tried_ to work with someone."

"That's because I don't need to." He snorts.

"Are your ankles okay?," he asks ironically, sparing her a brief, amused glance before getting back to his papers. She rolls her eyes.

"They're fine, thanks. And I don't need assistance."

"I know you don't, Lois - otherwise you'd already be at the door, because that attitude of yours is starting to get on my nerves," he reprimands, glaring as he finally puts down his pen and glasses to give her his full attention.

She simply glares back, and he sighs. "The guy is just a stringer, but everything he's send me so far is pretty solid, and I have yet to not publish it. He digged up the story, and he deserves to be the one to investigate it and bring it to light."

She frowns.

"If it's his story and he's so deserving, why are you sending me over there?"

"Because the scale of it is new for him. He's never had to investigate on something that big before. _But,_ " he quickly adds before the protest leaves her mouth. "I think he can handle it - he just needs a little help. You're the best around, I think you two could make a good team, and he's good enough that you can actually work with him without getting annoyed."

"Great. So now I'm a baby-sitter," and it's his time to roll his eyes. "Thanks, Perry, I really appreciate all the new experiences I get to live thanks to you."

"Well actually, Mrs Sassy, I think you _are_ going to end up thanking me on this one."

Rising her eyebrows at him in challenge, she balances her weigh on one foot, unimpressed _._

"Really? How so?" He smirks.

"The story involves Luthor Corps."

It takes everything she has, but Lois keeps a straight face. He knows he's won, though. _Smartass._

"So, do you want to work on a story that can break the perfect image of one of the most famous and beloved billionaires in the country you've always suspected, or are you too busy pouting about having to share it?"

Deliberately choosing to ignore his satisfied smirk, she heads towards the door, not without making sure of sending another glare his way with a mumbled _'Fine'._

Right before she leaves his office, Lois turns back to him, frowning.

"What's his name, anyway?"

"Clark Kent."

* * *

She arrives in town early in the night - although the word 'town' is a bit of a stretch, given the size of it. Apparently, the guy decided not to enter the twenty-first century along with everyone else and doesn't have a cellphone, so all she has is the address and time he gave Perry a couple of days ago.

That, and a pretty odd request from the mysterious prodiguee.

Closing the door of her rental behind her, Lois tightens her jacket around herself and enters the old bar where they're supposed to meet. The place is pretty standard: rusty wooden stools, a pool table, dimmed lights, a few booths at the end of the room. A small scene where musician probably comes once in a while, with a dark and dusty velvet curtain behind it. The smell of whisky hangs in the air, and the two morons looking at her like she's some kind of meat are already getting on her nerves.

Ignoring them, she heads towards the bar, and the sixty something year-old man behind it.

"Hi. I'm looking for Joe Cooper, do you know him?"

"Yeah, that's him, over there," he responds, pointing towards a broad figure at the end of the room before going back to his clients. Muttering a quick _'Thanks_ ', Lois adjusts her bag, and walks to her soon to be co- worker, stopping right behind him.

"So: can I call your Clark, or are you sticking with Joe?," she asks, just loud enough for only him to hear. He immediately turns and looks at her, surprise registering on his face.

The first thing that crosses her mind is _'Wow, is that guy tall_ '. She didn't notice it before, as he was crunched down above the table, but he is. Blue eyes (very blue), black curly hair, strong jaw covered with a three day beard that quite suits him.

Lips slightly quirking up, she extends her hand. "Lois Lane. I was told you had a story that was worth checking?" His shoulders immediately relax, and he shakes her hand.

"Right. Nice to meet you, Mrs Lane," he says, voice deep as he gives her a polite smile. It's a good smile, she decides.

Breaking contact, he gestures towards the bar. "And sorry about that, but Joe would be better around here, if you don't mind."

"Lying to your employer, huh? You sure know how to live on the wild side." His grin grows, amused this time, and, bending his head down for a second before looking back at her, he nods.

"I guess you could say that, yes." His expression then turns apologetic. "I'm sorry, but my shift only ends in fifteen minutes," he starts, visibly bothered by having to make her wait. She waves his apology away.

"It's fine – I'm early: it's my fault, anyway. Can I wait for you here?" she points to the table behind him. He moves aside.

"Of course," and he lets her settle on the bench. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Okay. I'll be right back, then." And, with a small smile she answers, he gets back to work.

He's – okay, she thinks. So far. She knew Perry wouldn't have bothered with an asshole, anyway, but she had had more than a few sexist, machist, idiotic encounters in her line of work. She learnt to handle it pretty fast, whether it was mesuring dicks with them before setting things straight, or immediately announcing that she wasn't going to take any shit just because she had a vagina.

So far, it had always worked – or at least, had always gotten her what she wanted.

But he's not like that. She's pretty good at assessing character quickly, and that guy strikes her more as the polite, discreet, well-raised and good-manered gentleman type than the ego maniac, jerk one.

Good. At least she won't have to put up with anything she doesn't have the time for.

Getting her notebook and research out of her bag, Lois takes her eyes off him, and focuses back on the investigation.

* * *

She snaps back out of her thoughts and of the theories already building in her head and into the world when a beer is suddenly but carefully settled right in front of her. She looks up to see him take his white apron off before he sits opposite her.

"It's on the house. To make amends," he says simply, then continues at her questionning look. "Mr White told me you weren't exactly thrilled to work with a stringer, so consider this a peace offering." Her eyes roll almost from themselves, but he doesn't look mad.

"Let me guess: he told you I'd act like a jerk and treat you like a newbie."

"No. Well, not on those terms, anyway," and the corners of his lips go up in a discreet smirk. An amused one, she thinks.

"I just like to get a raise out of him," Lois shrugs as she reaches for her glass. "And he did take me off guards. I _am_ a little skeptical about the team work thing, I'll give you that, but I'm not gonna be an ass – you can relax, Joe," she assures, a little smile he returns on her lips. "Besides, I read your stuff: it's not bad." Pursing his lips, he nods.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he says, the note of amusement so subtil in his voice you could almost miss it.

 _And with a sense of humor, apparently._

"You should. Thanks for the beer," she gestures, taking a sip.

After her three hours drive, it feels like heaven. "So, fill me in: what did you find?"

Expression turning serious, Clark Joe obliges, telling her all about the shaddy deals he noticed while working on the oil plateform near here (she mentally makes a note to find out what the hell he was doing working on an oil plateform, at some point), how he connected it to Luthor Corps, what proof he has or can get, who he can and has talked to. They talk for almost an hour and a half, Lois stopping him only to ask details or enlighten some points. They exchange points of views, ideas, throw theories back and forth.

He really is not bad, for someone who doesn't have much experience in deep investigations (his words). There's some things to correct, of course, and room for improvement, but she doesn't think she's going to have to carry him or anything – he's doing just fine.

(Then again, Perry probably wouldn't have sent her here, if he thought she would have had to. He knows better.)

"Did you start interviewing the witnesses? Employees?"

"I thought about it, but – I've never really done that before. I thought it was best to wait for you." Shaking her head slighty, Lois chuckles.

"At least you're honest about it."

"I never pretended to be a real journalist," and she knows he's not taking it the wrong way when she sees amusement in his eyes. Nice ones, really. "To be honest, I thought Mr White was going to give the story to another reporter all together." She archs an eyebrow.

"And you called him anyway? Not really the kind of right moves, if you want to build a reputation for yourself."

Finishing his own beer, Clark simply shrugs.

"The important thing is that the story gets out, not my name on it."

 _Well...aren't you an odd one_. "So, how much time do you think we need?"

Shaking her head slightly, Lois hides her chuckle, and answers.

"Not long, really. You've done most of the work, so I'd say four or five days, just so we can re-check some things, maybe talk to a couple more people, then edit." She smirks. "You should get back to being a dedicated waiter in no time, don't worry. "

He doesn't miss a bit.

"Wonderful: I wouldn't want to compromise my rise to the top. Speaking of which, I should probably get back to it now, if I don't want to get fired." Lois frowns at that.

"Didn't you say your shift was over?"

"I took an extra one," he explains, helping her gather all the documents she had laid down. "I have a passion for fine jewellery I need to finance," he deadpans, glancing up at her, and Lois holds back her chuckle.

"Right. I could tell you were the type – I bet pearls look great on you."

* * *

The next day, she comes back to meet him for breakfast. He manages to get several breaks along the day, and they make considerable progress, putting the puzzle together piece by piece. It's even more satisfying knowing that this could finally help show Luthor's other (and true) side to the world.

She never trusted him – never bought his whole perfect, progressist, nice, smooth guy act. Way too suspicious for her taste.

Working in duo is not that bad - or at least, working with _him_ isn't. It sure is different, but bouncing of ideas and leads off of each other is an interesting way of approaching a job she usually handles exclusively alone. A stimulating one, even. It certainly seems to help reach the goal, and the fact that the process is not unpleasant is a plus, she supposes.

As it turns out, her suspisions were right. Clark Kent slash Joe Cooper has his way with words, and gets the hold of things pretty quickly, managing to follow easily once she's shown him the path. But he's also very perceptive, very smart. Hell, probably even smarter than her.

( _"You read a lot, don't you?"_ she asks him at one point after he's raised her suspisions and curiosity yet again, her eyes on his endearing focused scowl while he re-reads an official Lex Corps report. Frowning, he looks up, a bit confused.

 _"Uhm - yeah, I guess. It was kind of an escape thing as a kid, so,"_ he admits. Sensing a sensitive spot she doesn't want to push, Lois nods. Then, smiles.

 _"I bet your favorite book was from Spinoza or something."_ He smiles back.

 _"Platon, actually,"_ and she rolls her eyes.

 _"Of course it was."_ )

He's clever, intuitive, yet...maybe not shy, exactly, but – _reserved_. That's definitely the word for it, now that she thinks about it. Watching him, and particularly watching him interact with others, even in that short of a time, the reporter in her can't help but motice how discreet he is, self-effacing. It looks like he's been here for at least a month, if not more, yet he doesn't seem to have bond with anyone, or given any detail about his lie and identity all together.

She doesn't mind. As far as she's concerned, as long as they're not screwing something or somedy over, everybody has the right to have their own private thing going, reason or no reason.

Still, Lois thinks that his particular story would be one she wouldn't mind hearing.

* * *

 _"Three days in, and I still didn't get one complaining call or whiny text. Does that guy drug you or something?"_

Letting her motel room door shut behind her, she rolls her eyes.

"That's very funny, Perry. Have you been taking comedy classes from Lombard or something?" Kicking off her shoes, she listens as he snorts on the other side of the line.

 _"I'll take that as a no. So, how is the article coming along?"_

* * *

Things run their course. They dig in, he learns, the investigation progresses. They work in their usual booth, once in her motel because she can only take so many drunk men yelling at the damn football game.

(He doesn't say anything, but she can see his eyes linger on the TV as they go out of the bar. Men and their sport.)

The next day, it's well past nine when they finally end their round of interviews. She's pretty satisfied with the results and, for a rookie, Clark's done very well yet again, but she's exhausted and God – _starving_.

Throwing her bag at the end of the bench, Lois lets herself ungraciously fall on it with a growl. He smiles.

"Worn out yet? I thought you were supposed to be unstoppable." The mocking irony in his tone makes her send a glare she doesn't really mean.

"Ahah. Don't pretend you're not glad you don't have a shift right now, witty boy."

"Not even going to try," he concedes. "We made good progress though, right?"

"Definitely." Her lips quirk up. "You're not as helpless as you could have been, Kent," she teases him. She likes doing that, she finds. Again, that makes him smile, then nod in fake gratitude.

"Thank you – that really means a lot. Same to you." Her chuckle is cut short as soon as she smells the french fries approaching their table.

"Here," the girl – Chrissy, she's learnt – says politely as she put the sacred little basket of greesy goodness in front of them. Lois isn't even sorry for the way she immediately leaps on the damn thing. "Your orders should be ready soon."

"Thanks," Clark politely smiles, sending her an amused look before focusing back on his co-worker as she talks again.

"So: how is the investigation going?"

"Well, thanks. Joe here still has a _lot_ to learn," Lois emphasizes, keeping a straight face as she feels his amused gaze on her. "But he's alright," she shrugs non-chalently, stealing another fry.

"I'm sure. Are you going to be done soon?," and even if she looks at her, too, Lois can't help but notice how her eyes linger on Clark – and the small, smitten smile that doesn't leave her face while she does.

"I'm not sure. Lois?"

Trying to hide her amusement, she shrugs again.

"A couple of days, maybe three? We'll see, but it shouldn't take that long."

"Oh, okay. Well, I should get back to it," the young woman motions behind her. "Enjoy." And, with a last smile towards Clark, she heads back to the bar.

Taking a sip of his beer, he focuses back on her, then frowns.

"What?"

"You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend, Clark Joe."

"I don't," and she raises an eyebrow at him as she throws another fry in her mouth. "Chrissy and I are just friends."

"Right."

"We are. It was just - " He stammers a little, getting embarassed. She finds it surprisingly cute. "It wasn't a big thing. And it's over now."

"Look at you, all blushing," she grins, not able to hold back her chuckle when he tries to glare at her. "Okay, I'll stop. But just so you know, it doesn't look like her crush is going anywhere."

"Lois - "

Taking pity on him, she holds up her hands in surrender, a small smirk still floating on her face.

"Fine. Entertain me with something else, then." Relaxing, he shakes his head at her, half amused, half exasperated.

It's not a bad look on him, either.

"With what?"

"Well, first, the obvious question: what is a guy like you doing serving beer instead of taking a proper reporter gig?" He smirks, looks at her. Kind of a - mysterious look, for lack of a better term.

(How ironic, for a journalist – for _her._ Then again, there's something about him since the beginning, something she can't quite put her finger on.)

"What does ' _a guy like me_ ' mean?"

"Fishing for compliment? Really?"

"I'm just trying to understand what you're saying."

"You're just trying to avoid the question."

Giving in, he sighs, and even though she can tell he's not mad, he's careful.

"There's a lot of – unanswered questions about my past. I need to find the answers before I can consider the proper gigs and the proper life."

A part of her wants to dig in, but, feeling a touchy subject, Lois decides to let it go. Which is a first, really – usually, touchy subjects make her pen itch.

"Alright, mystery boy. Tell me where you come from, then. Unless that's classified information too?"

There's a small smile that makes her think something's getting past her before he answers – again. It takes all that she has for Lois to ignore her instincts.

"I grew up in Smallville – it's in Kansas. And now I'll let you get that clever comment you're dying to make off your chest."

"I'm hurt, Smallville," she feigns, proud of herself when he rolls his eyes at the surname. "I would _never._ Although you do have to introduce me to all your cows and chickens, one of those days."

"No cows, I'm afraid. Lots of corn, though – and a dog."

"Now I'm just jealous."

"I'm sure. What about you? Where did you get that subtil sense mockery from?"

"Oh, all over – Kansas excepted, I'm afraid," she winces in fake apology. He relaxes back on his seat, sighing.

"I can't believe I didn't realize how big a mistake telling you that was."

"Poor thing. Don't worry though! there's plenty to make fun of in my up-bringing, too. Army brat," she explains, pointing at herself with her thumb. "And I bet I've lived in places far more isolated than corn specialist Smallville."

Chuckling, Clark smiles. "Entertain me, then."

* * *

Thirty-five hours later, they're done.

A last coma here, a word change there, and here it is: Lois Lane and Clark Kent's collaboration article. His first major publication, her first by-line.

The first of many articles exposing Luthor's questionnable activities to the world, she hopes.

"Do you think it will make a difference?"

"I doubt it," she admits, not wanting to lie to him. His disappointed, hurt puppy expression makes her smile. "But it's a start. Luthor is a powerful man: it will take something huge to make him fall from his pedestral. But our story is a first step – if anything, it will at least install doubt in people's mind."

She shrugs. "Or it could be a total disaster," she deadpans, making him laugh. "Come on, the next round is on me."

His eyes eyes light up, amused and teasing.

"So I take it you thought I did a good job, then?"

Containing her own grin, she gives him a fake unimpressed look, and makes a face.

"Decent."

He smiles.

* * *

They spent the next hour and a half sitting in their booth, the first beer quickly turning into a second, a third.

By the time they get up, Lois is way more dizzy than she should.

"You can wipe that smirk out of your face, Smallville," she hisses at they exit the bar, trying her best to glare at him.

He raises his hands, playing innocent.

"I didn't say anything." The amusement in his eyes, however, says a lot. She grunts.

"Whatever."

"Sober as you may be," he starts, the insolent bastard, "can I walk you to your motel?" She crosses her arms at him.

"I'm perfectly capable of walking by myself, Kent."

"Maybe I just want to walk with you," he smiles a smile she can't help but returning. Rolling her eyes for good mesure, Lois hooks her arm to the one's he's offering to her.

She tells herself that the warm feeling settling in her stomach as they start their journey back to her motel is purely alcohol-induced.

"So."

"So."

"What's the next move for you, Clark Joe? Are you planning on staying here for long?" He shrugs against her.

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it yet."

"Is there more to take out of this place?," and Lois feels his eyes move to her.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said you needed to find answers, right?" He nods. "Do you think you can find them here?"

She swears his shoulders shift a little at that, his blue eyes fixed on the road ahead of them. He shakes his head slightly.

"I don't think so. I didn't really think I'd find them here in the first place," he chuckles, even though there isn't much humor in it.

In the early night, she can see him swallow down, and hears the slight sadness in his voice. "I don't even know where to look, to be honest."

In the seven days that she'd known him, it's the first time Lois hears him like that. She knows he's not doing it on purpose, that he's not even fishing for compassion, but there's hurt in his voice, desperation. It's raw, and yet, quieted down – like him.

Like he's been carrying a burden for long, so long, and has always made sure to keep it his own, to keep his pain hidden and to himself.

She aches for him. A simple sentence, and yet she's just -

It takes her a moment to get her voice back, which is suprising, a small part of her notes. Lois Lane doesn't really react like that. She's not immune of the horrors she sometimes witness in her job, of course, but she doesn't usually get like that for people she just met, people in general – not so suddenly, not so deeply.

"I'm sorry," she eventually manages, her hand momentarily tightening around his arm. "Maybe I could help: looking for answers _is_ my job."

His eyes meet hers, and this time, his smile is genuine. Grateful. He looks at her for a few seconds, and she thinks she sees something else in there, too.

"I think this is something I have to do on my own. I'm not sure anyone can help me – although if there was, you'd definitely be my first choice," he adds with fake seriousness, teasing.

Lois smirks back. "Well, I should certainly hope so, Smallville. I mean -"

But that night, Lois doesn't get to finish her sentence.

Everything goes fast – so fast.

A flash of light. Tires scrunching. They both turn around, but it's too late. Their smiles froze. After its missed turn, the huge truck coming in front of them tries to get the control back. It does. Its truckload still goes free.

As she watches the huge pieces of wood coming at them, Lois feels herself pulled back and towards the ground. But the ground is covered in ice and they slip, and her head hits something.

The last thing she sees is the tree trunks crashing down on them, and Clark's entire body shielding her as she understands that they're going to die.

After that, everything goes black.

* * *

Her head hurts.

That's first thing Lois' aware of as she slowly regains consciousness. She vaguely registers that it's raining, that she's warm, most probaly in her motel room bed. She tries opening her eyes, but it takes more effort than it should.

After a couple of tries, she finally succeeds. With a growl, she painfully sits up, and, as she leans on her right arm, yelps in pain – and that's when it all comes back to her. The bar, the walk, the truck.

Clark.

"Clark." Suddenly wide awake, she frantically looks around her room for him, but he's nowhere to be found. She's alone.

Dropping on her back, Lois lets the enormity of it all dawn on her. He's – Hell, she doesn't even know what he is. What she does know, however, is that the man saved her life.

She can't remember much, but she remembers enough to know he's perfectly fine. At least six tree-trunks have fallen on his back - and given that she's still alive and in one piece, probably broke and _bounced_ off his back – and he was unarmed, the vague memory of him carrying her, whispering that she was going to be okay, inked in her brain.

Wow.

A thousand theories immediately start running in her head. Scientific experiment? Struck of lightening, maybe? Simple very strong body structure? But no, this couldn't be it: no matter how much time spent at the gym, no man would have ever survive that. Plus, Clark clearly isn't the type to go the gym seven hours a - Lois suddenly freezes.

Unless he's _not_ a man – unless he's not human.

As crazy as it may seems, the thought makes sense. She's willing to bet than no Guinness book has ever recorded such a strong amount of strengh on this planet, so the most logical explanation is that he comes from another one, and just happened to live here, on Earth. Sure, he looks exactly like a human-being, but Lois' never believed in the small green alien cliché.

She's never believed in aliens, period – until today.

But that's what he must be. Clark Joe Kent – an alien. Holy freaking hell.

His words come back to her. ' _There's a lot of unanswered questions about my past'_ , he had said. _'I need to find the answers.'_

"I bet you do, Smallville," she whispers to herself. He wasn't from Smallville, though, she mentally corrects herself. He'd lie about that. Which would be understandable, really.

Yet, she's not sure he did. He certainly didn't _seem_ to be lying, talking to her about his town, about his farm, about his parents. Were they aliens, too? But something wasn't right.

Not only he didn't appear to be lying, Lois believes with all she had that he was sincere, the previous night. He needed answers, he'd said. _'I don't even know where to look, to be honest. I'm not sure anyone can help me.'_ The people that raised him weren't like him, then.

He was alone.

Lois is surprised to find herself feeling more compassion than curiosity at that realization.

He is, though, which would explain a lot: somehow, he had ended up in a farm in the middle of Kansas, was raised by regular Earth people, grew up wondering about his origins, and was now living to find the truth. Hence, the not so normal life, the lack of proper jobs.

He was probably too busy and desperate to find out where he came from for that – and probably didn't want to stay too long in the same place, at the risk of accidently revealing himself at some point. By helping people, she thinks.

Like he helped her.

Only hesitating for a second, Lois gets up from her bed, grabs her jacket, and heads towards the door.

* * *

As soon as she walks in, she knows something wrong.

As she crosses the treshold, Lois immediately scans the room for any sign of him, but the music suddenly stops, and her attention is instantly drawn to the far corner of the bar, where all eyes are directed.

"Or I'm gonna have to ask you to leave," she hears Clark's deep voice.

Making her way into the small crowd gathered, she sees his familiar broad figure, his back to her, as the man in front him responds.

"I think I'll probably just leave when I'm good and ready." And with that, he throws his beer in Clark's face. Laughter rises among the men.

Her blood runs cold.

Clark doesn't immediately reacts, his head still down, and there's a second of silence again before he looks up. Lois can't see his face, but as she starts to move to untie his apron and teach the son of a bitch a lesson, he speaks again.

"Oh, there he is," he says, proud of himself, before pushing him.

Except Clark doesn't move.

The movement was hard, violent, but he doesn't move, and instead, it's the man that almost goes flying, stumbling as a glass he knocked over breaks behind him. Everything stops.

The room goes silent once more, Chrissy freezes, the asshole's face is nothing but shock. Lois herself stops in her track, the tension holding everyone. After what feels like an eternity, Clark starts to move, and her heartbeat starts skyrocketing with fear and anticipation when the young waitress has the good sense to stop him.

"It's not worth it, sweetie."

He pauses, looks at her, looks at the man. Eventually, he takes his apron off, and turns away.

Lois releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. But the truck driver doesn't leave him be, feeling courageous again now that he's seen that Clark won't do anything to him.

"Hey asshole, don't forget your tips," he hisses, throwing an empty beer can at Clark's back, making his pack of idiots chuckle.

Clark stops, and just before he leaves, she sees his face, all frustration, tiredness at a humiliation that seem too familiar to him, and her chest tightens.

He's been gone for a good handful of seconds when Lois finally draws her eyes away from the door he's just exited by. The helplessness and ache she feels morphs into anger again as the jokes and chuckles at his expanse start rising.

Snickers, mockeries, brags coming for the filth that is now laughing out loud. Those are the last straw.

As she turns back to go and talk to Chrissy, Lois hears his muffled moans of pains, mixed with a few colourful names he kindly (but not too loudly, she notes) adresses to her.

She smiles.

* * *

It takes her half an hour to reach his place.

Chrissy's indications are clear enough, but it's so secluded, so far into the forest – for a city girl like her, anyway – that at some point, she thinks she's lost.

What a delightful last twenty-four hour it would have made: almost getting crushed, an alien discovery, and getting to starve and freeze to death in the freaking woods.

But she doesn't, and, after a short walk, a few curses and a barely avoided fall, Lois finds herself in front of a small wooden cabin. Hidden among the trees, the place is nothing extravagant, quite simple. Nice, though, she thinks. Charming, peaceful.

 _How adequate_ , she thinks.

His home is nothing extravagant, indeed, but as she makes her way around it to reach its front, Lois understands why Clark probably chose it.

The lake reflects the orange colored sky as the sun slowly sets, the dark trees bordering it offering a perfect contrast. It's so quiet, she's sure she could hear a leaf fall.

It's breathtaking.

Even seated, Clark imposing figure betray his physical power, but somehow, he looks perfectly in place, in the middle of that painting worthy landscape.

"You know, I never took you for the type of guy who just saves a girl from being squashed and leaves," she starts when she's reached him.

He doesn't turn to look at her, but Lois sits down anyway, settling down next to him and mirroring his position, legs hanging off the deck.

"Nice job on picking the house, by the way - very trendy. A little too big for my taste, though," and she's relieved when she hears him chuckle a little. "The lake view is pretty nice, though. My hotel room's window gives on an alley wherre drunk gentlemen like to come and relieved themselves from all the beer you serve them, so I admit I'm a bit jealous on this one."

"Sorry about that."

He finally looks at her, and Lois turns her head to meet his gaze. He's smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes - inside them, there's nothing but sadness, hurt. She hates that sight more than she expected to.

She smiles back gently. "All forgiven, Smallville. Although if you're taking suggestions, I think buying the next round would be a nice way to make amends," she deadpans, earning herself an amused look.

"Deal." They look at each other for a few seconds, before his eyes turn more serious again. Concerned, guilty, she thinks. "Are you all right?" She snorts.

Even in a situation like this, the man thinks of her first. Unexpected, from what she's seen and experienced so far from human kind – coming from Clark, she supposes it's not really that surprising. She did smell the perfect, selfless good guy type pretty quickly, after all.

"I feel like _I_ should be asking you this." He frowns. "I went to the bar looking for you – I saw what happened."

He drops her gaze for a second, swallows.

"That was nothing," he tries to shrug it off. Shaking his head slightly, he looks back at her, and smiles a smile that she knows is not quite true. "I'm used to it, anyway," and even it was supposed to have the opposite effect, his words make her heart break a little more. "How are you feeling?"

Shaking her head in disbelief, Lois answers. "I'm all right. No pain, except for the bruise on my arm and the pounding in my head this morning that reminded me a little too much of my hangover days in college," she jokes. "But apart from that, I'm fine."

She looks at him, waits for him to look back. "Thank you." This time, his smile is sincere.

"You're welcome." Chuckling, Lois snorts.

"I can't believe I managed to get hurt in _Canada_. War zones in Afghanistan and Irak, I'm fine – almost empty fisher town in the world's most friendly country, and I barely avoid getting crushed," she rolls her eyes. "Thank God Perry won't know: I'll never hear the end of it."

He laughs at that, a genuine, big laugh, and she can't help her own smile. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just – well, first, that wasn't exactly the reaction I was expecting from you," and she archs an amused eyebrow at that. "I was getting ready for the hundred questions a minute, to be honest."

"Oh, it's coming, Smallville - don't worry." She shrugs nonchalantly. "I just thought I'll wait a little and get you by surprise: more interesting answers that way," she says seriously, before they both chuckle. "What's second?"

"Most people usually run in the other direction, when they find out. Or go for the looks and the whispered comments whenever I'm around, which is much better," he adds with irony. The corner of his lips strech up as his eyes meet hers.

"Well, I'm not most people," she smirks. The small smile and intense, yet soft gaze he gives her at that wakes something deep down in her, straight down to her insides.

"No, you're not."

Lois suddenly feels the intensity level rise up – and the temperature, for some reason.

"And anyway," she adds in a poor attempt to pretend to ignore the warmth in her entire body and her betraying heart skipping a beat. "You saved my life, so the least I can do is act like a decent human being – it's only fair."

"You'd be surprised," he starts, eyebrows raised. "I once caught an old lady before she fell to the floor, but she saw me coming to her at a speed, well, a little too high to be considered normal."

His eyes light up with amusement. "She hit me with her unbrella and yelled at me to go back to Satan."

It's awful. It really is, but all of the sudden, the image of an helpful Clark confused as he's assaulted by a lady half his size comes to her mind, and that, the ridiculous things she was shouting, and the ridiculous situation itself added to Clark's face right now is just too much – and they both burst out laughing.

It takes them more than a few seconds to finally manage to calm down.

"God," she whispers, wiping the tears that had escaped her away. "People are crazy."

"In their defense, it's not everyday you see a man going faster than a train or coming out of flames unarmed," he argues. Lois is surprised to find that his understanding shocks her more than the fact than he's apparently able to walk through fire.

"You're always taking it, aren't you?" He frowns.

"What's that?"

"Their defense."

His smile falls a little at that.

"I was angry for a long time, actually. Not just at people – at the situation, at myself. At God." He thinks, shrugs. "But at some point, I had to decide what kind of man I wanted to be," he finally says, eyes and head far away. Years away, if she had to guess. "And beating up people just to get even wasn't that. It wouldn't help much, anyway."

After a moment, he comes back to reality. "People are not ready," he smiles, looking back at her. "Maybe they'll never be – I accept that."

Shaking her head, she huffs.

"Well, _I_ don't. The fact that you are who you are doesn't give anybody the right to treat you like that – shouldn't mean you have to go through things like what you've just been through with that jerk at the bar," she adds, her blood boiling again.

Her hold tightens on the wood underneath them. "That's bullshit."

"Thank you." She looks back at him, surprised. After a moment, she understands what he means, and somehow, it calms her down.

"For what?" she says instead of the litany of curse words she was about to drop. "Not being afraid of you because of a few special habilities?" She snorts, both to dedramatize the situation and to make him smile. "Please, Smallville – I've been around, you know."

"Among other things, yes," he teases.

"Yeah, well, that's my point: you shouldn't have to thank me. Or to hide."

"I'm not from here."

She doesn't miss a beat.

"So?"

She holds his gaze, not willing to give him any reason to doubt her words, not willing to accept the way he's decided to seems to see himself. She means it – and what, if he's from another world? She'll concede she was shocked when she first realized, and her head is still kind of reeling at the fact that aliens do exist, and she can understand that that alone is, well, mind blowing.

But he's also just a man, in the end – a good one, at that. In just a couple of days, she's come to realize just how much, not mentionning funny, and kind, and smart. Hell, if she wasn't careful, she bet she could fall for the guy – probably already was, a small betraying inside voice whispers.

He gives her a small smile, then, his face unreadable before they both fall into silence. Eyes fixed on the other side of the lake, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

"Is that the reason for the no settling and no proper reporter gigs?" she asks after a while. "You're afraid that someone might found out?"

He thinks for a beat before answering.

"Maybe on some level, yes," he admits. "But I'm also looking for answers. Where I come from, why I'm here. Why I'm alone."

"You really don't know any of that,?" she blurts out before she can stop herself. He smiles sadly.

"No. My adopted parents found me in a field near their house – in a spaceship," he adds, amused at the look on her face. "Very sci-fi, I know."

"Tell me about it," she whistles. Then frowns. "I'm surprised the Governement didn't show up at their footstep the following day."

"They were as well, actually. For days, my mother was afraid they would come to get me – but they never did."

They leap into silence once more. Lois doesn't really know for how long, too deep into her own reflections. Over those people, that are so good, they took care and protected a small child despite the fact that it could have brought them troubles in more ways than one. Over him, so humble, so human, despite a life and situation that most, including herself, wouldn't be able to handle so gracefully, if at all.

Over how heavy a burden it must have been, for a small child to bear.

Given what he's told her and what she picked up, it doesn't seem like the people that knew were as understanding and kind as his parents.

"It must have been pretty lonely," she says after a while, her voice quiet. "Growing up, I mean." He chuckles, not much humor in it.

"Still is."

And here she is again: aching for him, somehow. Swallowing down as best as she can, Lois turns to look at him, but before she can think of anything to say, he continues, eyes still fixed ahead. "It could have been worse, I guess. My parents were great, so it helped a lot, but – I just didn't feel like I fitted in. I didn't. Hence all the reading," he smirks knowingly at her. She smiles back.

"So Plato and Aristotle were Clark Kent's best friends, huh?" She can picture him, sitting under a tree, reading to try to understand what it meant to be human.

"And don't forget Hank – my dog," he adds with a falsly serious nod, and she plays along.

"Right."

He stares back at the water before his voice rises again.

"I always had to hold back. It was more difficult when I was a kid, but sometimes - " He hesitates, almost ashamed of himself, she thinks. "Sometimes, it's like I'm fifteen again. If it wasn't for Chrissy, I'm not sure I would have stopped myself in time, at the bar," he admits through gritted teeth. Confesses, she realizes.

"I know you wouldn't have hurt him," she says confidently, not wavering for a second when his suprised eyes meet her own. "Even if the son of a bitch deserved it." She tries to keep the smirk out of her face as she shrugs. "Which is why I did."

As his expression goes from shock to amusement, Lois laughs with him.

* * *

That night, as he walks her back to her motel, they pass the bar – the bar, and the trucks parked not far from it.

Noticing his gaze, she smirks.

"Do it."

Startled, he turns back towards her, frowning. "You're thinking about destroying that douche's truck – and I really think you should." He hesitates briefly, but eventually, her encouraging smile makes his own grow. "Come on, Kent: show me what you got."

He does.

* * *

"So."

Hands in his pockets, he purses his lips, a faint smile on his face. "So."

"There's no way to make you change your mind, huh?" She thinks his smile turns a little fond. There's something else there as well, something she can't quite identify.

"I have to find out where I'm from, Lois – who I am."

"Well, you're Clark Kent, and you have what it takes to be decent journalist. A job, that, might I point out, comes with a lot of perks: this could actually help you in your research."

"Really?," he asks, amused. "How so?"

Lois just shrugs, sure of herself.

"Clearance, means to investigate what you want, helpful sources around the world – you name it. And it's the greatest job in the world, so." She breaks pretense of snobiness when he chuckles.

Her face turns more serious, then. "You can have a normal life, settle down." She sees the slight distress behind his blue eyes at that, and a part of her feels like it's what's he's always wanted, yet had always been deprieved of.

"You don't have to hide, Clark," she says, sincere. "You don't have to be alone."

Once she's sure he's heard her, she shrugs again. "And Metropolis is a pretty good place to live," she adds with a perkier tone, wanting to make that sad look from his face. She pats herself on the back when it works.

"Nice restaurants, great bars, always buzzing. Plus, it could use something other than douches."

"So I'm in the nice guys category, then?", he jokes, bragging.

"Decent," she smirks. "Don't let it go to your head, farmboy."

They laugh, and looking at his ridiculously blue eyes, Lois realizes that she's probably going to miss them. Miss him, in fact.

 _How about that._

She clears her throat just to make sure her stupid voice doesn't betray her before speaking again.

"Anyway: for what it's worth, I really do think that it's possible. And, most importantly, that you deserve it."

He seems to hesitate for a while, his almost hopeful gaze staring at her. But, after a moment, he drops his head, shaking his head only slightly, as if to convince himself, before looking back at her with a faint smile.

"I can't, Lois – I have to know."

"And you can look _and_ have a life," she insists softly.

As they look at each other, she knows she didn't convince him, though. Sighing, she gives him a small smile, accepting her defeat. "Alright, Smallville," she concedes, holding up her hands in surrender. "Your choice."

There's nothing more to be said, and so they just stand here, face to face. Lois wants to kiss him, and is much too aware that she probably won't have another chance to.

So, she does.

His lips are softer than she imagined, just like the skin under her fingertips, despite the light stubble on his square jaw. She doesn't immediately open her eyes afterwards, but when she does, her face inches away from his, his are still closed.

She smiles when he looks down at her.

"Thank you for saving me, Superman."

* * *

A couple of days after their article is released, she receives an email.

 _"Looks like it wasn't a total disaster, after all. It was a pleasure to work with you, Miss Lane."_

Perched up behind her Daily Planet desk, Lois smiles.

 _"Nice working with you too, Joe."_

* * *

Days pass, turn into weeks. She keeps investigating, the bad guys keep getting their faces shown to the world.

She thinks about him, sometimes. Often. More than she's supposed to, probably.

It could have worked, she thinks. It's foolish to even think about it (she had only spent one week with the guy, for God's sake) and on paper, it shouldn't have. Not because of the whole alien thing – that, she couldn't care less about. It was on everything else that they weren't compatible, or at least, shouldn't be.

he was an optimictic when she was a cynical, believed in humanity when she lost faith in it a long time ago. He was quiet and reflexive, she was loud and impulsive. He was dangerously close to their human definition of perfect, and she wasoh so far from it.

And yet – _yet_ , she believes it could have worked. She wanted it to.

Too bad destiny had other plans for them.

"Come on, Lois. When are you gonna throw me a bone?"

Leaning towards her, he smirks, apparently pretty proud of himself. "Courtside seats to the game tonight. What do you say?"

Shaking her head slightly, she barely holds back a roll of her eyes.

"I say you should go back to trolling the intern pool," she smiles defiantly, raising her eyebrows. "You'll probably have more luck, " and of course, that's the moment Jenny chooses to show up.

Her smile turns half apologetic, half amused as she hands the youg woman her article. "Sorry."

Steve simply shrugs, and turns his attention to Jenny, waving his tickets.

"Courtside?"

"Don't," Lois advices with a smile, chuckling as she gets back to her computer when Jenny snorts.

"Lombard, Lane, I want you to meet our new stringer, I want you to show him the ropes. Lois, I'm sure you'll recognize your partner."

She's not going to lie: when she turns around, her freaking heart stops.

"This is Clark Kent," Perry finishes for Lombard's sake. "Good luck, kid," he says with an encouraging pat to his shoulder, then leaves.

Leaving _her_ shocked, speechless, questionning what's she's seeing, and probably gaping.

He's shaved, wearing a tie and a plaid dress shirt she'll probably tease him when she regain the abilily, and has the dorkiest pair of glasses perched up on his nose, but there's no mistaken – standing right in front of them, Clark Joe himself.

His short exchange with Steve gives her time to get her self-control back - or at least, enough to get up, control her smile as best as she can, and get her voice back.

The stupid thing in her chest, however, is still going wild.

"I thought cold fisher towns were more your style, Kent," she manages, painfully aware of Lombard's presence next to them. She takes comfort in the fact that Clark seems to be having as much trouble as her containing his grin.

"I thought a change of scenery would be nice," he simply answers, his deep voice almost sending shivers to her spine.

 _Come on, Lane_. "I was told that Metropolis was a pretty good place to live," he smirks, insolent.

"Smart choice, farmboy. Well, in that case." Extending her arm, Lois fights to keep as straight a face as she can. "Welcome to the Planet."

She almost breaks at the slight shock on his face, his eyes widening for a second at her carefully chosen greeting as he takes her hand. After a couple of seconds, he smiles back, amused.

"Glad to be here, Lois."


	2. Chapter 2

**EPILOGUE**

 _A year later._

Grunting, Lois blindly reaches for her phone, hand stretched in the general direction of her night table. After a couple of tries, she eventually manages to grab the damn thing, right after something rather violently falls to the floor.

It's way too early for her to care.

"What?"

If her eyes were open, she'd roll them at the clever response on the other end of the phone. "You're welcome, Perry – I'm glad my perky tone always cheers you up. What is it?"

She's planning on more or less listening to whatever is so important that he has to wake her on a freaking Saturday, mumbling something barely coherent and hunging up. The original plan, however, goes out the window, forgotten in seconds.

Sitting straight up, Lois opens her eyes, entirely focused. "Are you sure?"

He keeps talking, her hearbeat rising with every word. By the time he's done, she's barely holding in place.

"All right, I'll take care of that," she nods, her head already elsewhere. "Yeah, fine – I'll let you know."

Hanging up, she drops her phone somewhere on the bed, mind reeling. She can't believe it.

Grinning, Lois turns around and starts gently shaking him awake. "Clark, come on, wake up," she starts, barely keeping the excitement out of her voice. "Come on!"

A groan is all she gets, his brow furrowing in annoyance, apparently reluctant to wake at six thirty on the week end.

"It's Saturday, Lo," he mumbles, burrying his head further into his pillow. She smiles.

"I know that," she says, taking advantage of his sleepiness to push him from his side to his back, earning herself another groan.

Shifting to straddle him, Lois drops kisses on his neck, his jaw, his lips, her smile widening when his arms snake around her on reflex. "But you still have to wake up – it's important," she whispers against his ear, leaning back up as his eyes finally open.

Hello, sleepy baby blues. Damn, that man was cute.

"Hi," she beams, hands resting on his hard chest. Despite the early hour, he stills gives her a true smile.

"Hi. What are you doing up?"

"Well, Perry called me." She's barely holding it together. "Apparently, somebody found something strange on Ellesmere. Aircon's been making runs out there all week." He frowns.

"Canada?"

"Yep. American military is already there, and they're taking every precaution to keep it a secret. They're calling it an anomalous object. Rumor is the object is enormous - and from what they know, unlike anything they've seen so far."

Almost vibrating with anticipation, she watches as he starts putting the pieces together, and realization eventually dawns on him. He looks back at her, confused, unsure – not daring to believe it, she knows.

"They're probably going to throw me an injonction to keep us away, but I think it can be easily over ruled."

"Because it's on Canadian soil," he finishes for her.

His questionning eyes stay on her as he swallows down. "You really think - " He doesn't end his sentence, the thought, after all those years, too good to be true.

Grinning at him, Lois intertwines their fingers together.

"Only one way to find out, Smallville."


End file.
